


chiaroscuro.

by Samael, violent



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 09:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10462164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samael/pseuds/Samael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent/pseuds/violent
Summary: Charles and Erik realize the uncanny similarities they share don't end with their power and pain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction written. Many thanks to my partner, Samael, for being my beta and helping me out with some issues. Leave me your thoughts, kudos, and criticism. Thank you for reading.

Erik Lehnsherr thought he knew everything about Charles Xavier.

He knows the way Charles’ hair is always impeccably smooth yet always tousled, pushed to the side and in desperate need of a comb. He hears the quiet, gentle footsteps of a man so respected he can command a room into silence simply with his presence. The gentle way atoms of iron, nickel, and zinc crafted a man so beautiful that even Erik finds himself unusually lost for words in his presence.

Erik Lehnsherr knows the Charles Xavier that Charles wants him to know. The realization of that does not surprise him, but he is a hypocrite and an angry one. He wants more than a façade; but who is he to demand anything but? Charles knows Erik Lehnsherr, the mutant who could bring humans to their knees and worship him as their prophet with a wave of his hand. He does not know the Erik Lehnsherr who never forgets to fast for Yom Kippur because to forget his parents means to forget himself.

They know so much about each other and yet so little.

 

“Erik?” came a voice.

Erik stirred in his seat in the Blackbird, glancing over. Hank was piloting, as he always did, and seemed mildly concerned at his silence. “What is it?” It was a bit harsher than he meant it to be, but Hank paid little mind.

“When we land, will you help me with Alex?”

Erik made a look of mild confusion before turning around, seeing Alex spread out as comfortably as possible in the aircraft, with Raven tending to his leg. Right – it was broken. They were training away from the Xavier mansion when Alex misjudged his landing from a ledge. Erik sent an apologetic look to the groaning Alex, and for a brief second his eyes washed over Charles, who looked forlorn and refused to make eye contact with anyone.

“Right. I’ll help you carry him inside to treat him, Hank,” Erik said, turning back around. Hank smiled with relief and began to slowly guide the aircraft to descent. The familiar outline of the Xavier mansion was beginning to appear out of the thick foliage of sturdy trees that Charles stubbornly refused to cut.

 

_Charles._

As a private man, he held his reservations about telepathic communication. But he knew how open Charles was in his own mind, where he could say things that his lips would never utter. Erik knew how to play Charles’ game, if he needed to.

_Charles._

He was more firm, more persistent as he attempted to project his thoughts to the telepath. As the Blackbird came to land, Erik didn’t get an opportunity to speak to Charles – Hank was ushering him and Raven to grab Alex as gingerly as possible to prevent anymore injury to his broken leg. Charles slipped away out of the aircraft, making sure the mansion was unlocked before making himself so scarce Erik wondered if he could also make himself invisible.

“What’s up with him?” Raven’s voice came as she, Hank, and Erik carried Alex like a plank of wood into the mansion and then into Hank’s personal laboratory. Erik was surprised to see all three of them staring, with Alex’s face appearing to be an ugly mixture of pain and amusement.

“I don’t know. Why are you all looking at me like that?” Erik countered, before staring Alex down. “Don’t look so pleased, Alex, or I’ll break your other leg –”

“Alright, drop him here please – carefully, if you don’t mind. Alex, I’ll take care of your leg. I’d prefer taking you to the hospital, but well, it’s probably best we patch you up here,” Hank interrupted, ushering Raven and Erik to place Alex onto a reclining chair that had been extended as far back as possible.

“Feel better soon, Alex.” Raven gave him a soft smile before turning to Erik, walking out of Hank’s laboratory with him. They walked through the mansion in silence together, making their way to the kitchen. Charles was still nowhere to be found – and still ignoring Erik’s quiet pleas for him to talk mentally.

 

The kitchen was wide and quiet and its grandeur was still startling to Erik, who had barely grown used to the Xavier mansion being his home. He was not used to such extravagant things. The large amount of space the mansion provided made it suitable for raising mutants, but was too big to give him any comfort. Raven busied herself by grabbing a glass of water and then pushed herself up onto the countertop, long legs dangling as she eyed Erik.

 

“If you want to say something, Raven, please speak.” He sensed the irritation in his voice again and wondered what had made him on edge like this. Erik’s tongue was always lacquered in zest, but never so much to Raven.

“You must be turning into Charles, Erik – you weren’t even looking at me but you knew I was looking at you,” She purred playfully, taking a swig of water from her glass. The summer heat was thick and blanketed them in cobwebs of stickiness, even in the reprieve of the air-conditioned mansion.

“You should find Charles. I’m worried about him,” Raven said after a brief pause, sobering up quickly. She slid down from the countertop and gingerly placed her glass where she previously sat, closing the gap between herself and Erik, who stood stock still near the refrigerator.

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you seek him out yourself and ease your worries?”

“Because you know him better than I do.”

“No I don’t. He’s essentially your brother and I’m just –”

 

Erik cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. What _was_ Erik Lehnsherr to the Oxford-taught Charles Xavier? Calling himself Charles’ friend felt odd in his mouth. They were not close enough to be friends, yet they were too close to be friends. His thoughts flashed to the moments of intimacy when both men, with liquor fresh on their lips (jack and coke for himself and rum for Charles, if he remembered right) that they learned their similarities.

Those were moments where Erik showed Charles how to make love to a man. Erik told him how he may have been Oxford-taught, but he knew nothing of the real world, outside of the cozy libraries and away from the well-dressed boys with their neat haircuts and their houndstooth jackets. He saw how skinny Charles was, where Erik was more robust in build. He showed Charles that if he could not make humanity worship him as their messiah, he could make Charles worship him on his knees as a god.

 

Raven stared him down and broke the pregnant pause between them, speaking unabashedly. “I know what you mean to him and that’s why I want you to talk to him. You and I know two different Charles Xaviers – and until he’s ready to let me see the rest of him, I’m okay with that.” Erik searched Raven’s eyes for a sign of sadness, but he found nothing but blue eyes staring back at him.

“You are different sides of the same coin.” Erik was taken aback by the tenderness in her voice. But why was he so surprised? This was the Raven he knew. The Raven he made love with twice; once because he thought she was the answer to his problems and twice because he pitied her for believing him to be the man of her dreams.

“Fine. I will give him some privacy and will seek him out after dinner – but I am doing this because you, Hank, and Alex need him mentally well and not moping around the mansion. Not for myself.”

He had to protect his ego, didn’t he?

Raven laughed and shook her head side to side, blonde hair sweeping around her face as she did so. “Whatever you say, Erik.” Her tone suggested she did not believe him, but knew better than to question him.

He shifted his feet, realizing he had been standing rigid for some time. His jaw felt tense, as if he had been clenching his jaw the entire duration of their conversation. She walked past him, placing her hand on his left shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Take care.”

“You too, Raven.”

She headed back the way they came previously, presumably back to Hank’s laboratory to check on Alex and his broken leg. Hank’s time at medical school served them well, making sure they didn’t have to deal with human hospitals and answering questions they didn’t want to truthfully answer.

 

Erik found himself standing alone in the kitchen, wondering why Charles’ sullen mood seemed to affect him so much.

They were not friends, yet they were so much more than friends. Erik hated the literary euphemisms Charles employed over chess – “I learned them in university, don’t you know, Erik?” – and Charles hated how smug Erik was with every sway of his hips, walking as if he was a god amongst men.

They were chiaroscuro; Erik was dark and heavy and Charles was light and airy, so contrasted and yet blended together so finely like they were painted by the master Caravaggio himself. Men like them should repel each other but Erik felt so comfortable in Charles’ presence – and he knew Charles felt the same.

Erik found himself in ‘his’ bedroom, although it felt weird to call it that. It was another empty guest room in the Xavier mansion and Erik had convinced himself not to make it look as if he was too comfortable with it. He didn’t want Hank and the others getting the wrong idea. It was a temporary stay.

 

Despite it being summertime, the sun seemed to set impeccably fast – or had he simply lost track of the time as it ticked away? Suddenly it was after eight that evening and the mansion was filled with laughter. Hank, Raven, and Alex were chuckling in the living room, probably over another game of cards (that Raven was most likely winning at).

He had no desire to join them, mostly because he disliked games that had no prize and because he did not feel quite at home at Xavier mansion. No matter how much Charles insisted, it would never be Erik’s home.

_Charles._

Erik felt himself almost mentally plead with Charles. Respond. Give him _something_. He sat up in bed when he found that ‘something’. It came as a subtle nudge in his mind. _Move_. And so he stood up, his body cracking from being in bed for so long, and made his way through the mansion. He navigated it as well as he navigated Charles’ body, with every twist and turn being as familiar as the crook in his neck or the throbbing of the vein in his wrist.

When he found him, it was not a pretty sight. Erik had pushed open the door to Charles’ study when he realized it was ajar for him. Miniature bottles of different types of spirits littered Charles’ desk, some half guzzled and others completely empty with only droplets remaining to suggest they were ever once full at all.

“What the hell, Charles?” It was a rhetorical question. Erik closed the door with his foot and, out of reflex, locked it while walking towards Charles behind his desk. Charles’ normally tousled mane had turned into some sort of abomination with the way it clung to his forehead from the humidity in the room and covered his face.

“Mad that I’m not looking as pretty as you like me to be, Erik?” Charles croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of conversation. He must have realized how harrowing he sounded, because he quickly swiped another small bottle from his desk and sloppily gulped it down. Red eyes stared Erik down as he made himself comfortable in the room, sitting on the edge of Charles’ wooden desk.

 

“Of course I wouldn’t be mad over something so stupid.” _Charles, you look awful._

“Then what the fuck do you want?” _Don’t waste my time by projecting such obvious thoughts, Erik._

Erik straightened up. He disliked hunching, even when sitting. “Raven is worried.” It wasn’t a lie – she was. She was the one who had convinced him to talk to Charles. But Charles knew better than to simply take all of Erik’s words without carefully reading between the lines (and then, more so).

“I’m a goddamn telepath you smug German bastard, I know why you’re here,” Charles snapped as he tapped his temple, turning himself in his chair so that he stared upwards at Erik, as if to scare him off. If Erik was a different man, he would have left Charles to drown his sorrow and pain in alcohol and whatever else he did to relieve himself of his emotional pain. If he was weak, he might have flinched at such a gentle man cursing and snapping at him as if being controlled by a malevolent outside force.

But he was Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier, inebriated and angry, did not frighten him.

Very little did.

“You’ve been crying,” said Erik flatly, gesturing to the redness of Charles’ eyes and the thin paths of tears on his face that had dried up before Erik came into the room. Charles bit his lip in frustration and turned away from Erik, staring out the window with a look that could only be described as muddled.

 

_You don’t have to talk out loud, Charles._

_I know._

_Tell me what’s on your mind._

Charles spoke verbally, his voice no longer as raspy as it had been, but clearly not as crisp as it normally was. “I – I don’t know if I can do this,” he began, his voice cracking as he gestured around the room. To the mansion and its ethereal courtyard. Erik knew what he meant, but Charles wanted to clarify. He never let Erik assume anything.

_I don’t think I can be what they want me to be._

Before Erik could respond, he heard the familiar sound of someone’s façade cracking and the pathetic wail that came when they began to cry. He was numb to crying. He had done it for so long; back in Germany and here in the States, too, when old memories nipped at him like frostbite during the winter. Charles was crying and Erik moved closer to him, sliding off the desk nimbly and kneeling beside his leather chair.

His cries came in heavy sobs, with his weary hands covering his face to protect what little ego remained. His body quivered as he cried and Charles, overcome with his emotions, could only let Erik understand him through his telepathy. Erik saw his mind become filled with vivid images of Hank, Alex, Raven, and even his own body broken and splintered into an unrecognizable mess. Nothing more than carrion for vultures to feast on. The images played like a film for Erik as the two of them remained motionless in the study, Erik feeling the heavy burden of the images Charles projected to him.

They were nightmares. Of everything he loved gone and destroyed, because he could not protect them.

_They aren’t real, Charles. They are nightmares._

 

Charles let out a pained, choked sob. “T-then why do they feel so real?” He sobbed, wiping at his eyes furiously with the back of his hands. His elbows rested on the arms of his chair and he looked forlornly out the window, the tears ebbing away for the moment.

“They see me as their protector. Their mentor. Erik, I don’t think I’m anything like that – I’m not that old myself. I don’t know if … if I can protect them. I saw Alex hurt and I just …” _I thought of how easily his broken leg could have been something else if we were really fighting something that wanted to hurt us._

Erik, still kneeled at Charles' side, moved his hand to grip Charles’ knee. The gesture seemed to startle the telepath, but he said nothing, and let Erik offer reassuring squeezes that sent feelings of comfort trickling up his thigh. Erik was unusually empathetic, but Charles supposed it was his fault for believing that Erik’s cold façade made it impossible for him to be gentle. It was wise to not judge someone’s outward appearance.

“Charles, I cannot tell you that no one will ever get hurt. I cannot tell you that you will never have to watch someone you love suffer while you look on, incapable of helping,” Erik began, his hand moving to grab Charles’ hand that was slick from his tears. He squeezed his hand while he talked, letting his fingernails rub soothingly over the telepath’s knuckles.

 

“But I _can_ tell you that if you love something, you protect it – by any means necessary.”

What Erik said seemed to have touched a nerve, because suddenly he was no longer looking upwards at Charles and Charles felt a twinge of pain in his heart as Erik attempted to scatter his thoughts.

_Forgive me, Erik. I shouldn’t have –_

_I don't need apologies, Charles._

Erik brought Charles’ hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles affectionately. In their verbal silence, their mental discussion continued quietly in the solitude of their shared link. A picture of Raven came to the forefront of Erik’s mind – a memory, of the three of them on a picnic because Charles insisted he come along too.

 

_I remember this. Two or three weeks ago, was it not?_

_Yes._

_Why are you showing me this, Erik?_

A mental pause.

_Do you love Raven, Charles?_

“What?” Charles suddenly exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. Erik refocused his gaze on him, his face not giving anything up. “You know Raven is practically my sister – we were raised here, together, in this mansion since our childhood…”

_So you do love her?_

_Yes. It was a familial love and a bond I share with no one else._

_Would you kill for Raven?_

 

Again, there was a pause, but this time on Charles’ side. He pried his hand out of Erik’s cool grasp and brought his hand to his face, where he pushed his unkempt hair out of his face. Erik felt his eyes following Charles’ jawline, where the light from the moon (how late had it gotten?) illuminated it and nearly entranced him. Charles must have felt Erik’s eyes on him, or heard his thoughts, because he stirred in his chair and turned back to him. When Charles’ response came, it was loud and clear.

“I would kill anyone who hurt her.”

He took a breath.

“I have the power to kill every person on this planet. I can control them and make them kill their loved ones. I can infiltrate their mind and show them their darkest fears to horrify them. I can control their brain and convince their heart it doesn’t need any more blood; that their lungs do not need any more air.” And suddenly Charles stood up, body tired from being slumped in his chair. His voice carried unusually loud across his study, or perhaps he was also speaking into Erik’s mind as he spoke out loud, but Erik heard him loud and clear.

“When you are strong, you protect what you love. So long as you are never afraid, you will never lose what you love.” Erik’s voice mimicked the strength of Charles’ and resonated once more as, he too, came to his feet. He stood beside Charles as the two of them looked outside the large window in the study, looking at the dark landscape that left only the moonlight to illuminate parts of its splendor.

Erik felt Charles’ hand nudge his on the desk and before he could complain, Charles placed his hand on top of Erik’s comfortably and they relished in the silence between them.

Finally, Charles turned his head to face Erik. The redness in his eyes had begun to dissipate and while there was no denying he still had many worries on his mind, the familiar gentleness had returned to his eyes. He smiled, placing his head onto Erik’s shoulder.

_I am glad I have you as a ..._

_I am whatever you want, Charles._

_Whatever I want?_

_Yes. I’ll let you call the shots tonight._

_As if I needed your permission, Erik._

Erik Lehnsherr then learned, that night, that Charles Xavier was just the boy who went to Oxford and could lecture him to death on genetics. He was a man who shouldered the weight of expectations to be a mentor and a guidance to those who needed him. He had fears of failure, remorse, fear, and death that plagued him in his every waking hour – of every opportunity for something to go wrong.

Charles Xavier then learned, that night, that Erik Lehnsherr was more than a man who locked his heart away because he knows what life does to the weak. He was a man who had seen how cruel God was, to snatch everything away with one grasp and to test him with more adversaries in life, leaving Erik to be a man who never backed down. So long as he was powerful, he could protect what he loved the most. He learned long ago that God is mortal, for humans are as cruel as he is.

They know so much about each other, and they relish in their similarities, yet they know so little that when they share a bed in the evening, their lips spill secrets that excite and enthrall the other man.

 

Both Charles and Erik decided, that night in the study, that they would kill to protect what they loved.


End file.
